On the Streets
by MyraRain223
Summary: one shot. Jason Todd's early years, before Bruce found him. What he went through as a kid living in Crime Alley. Rated T just to be safe for language and child abuse/violence. please Read and Review!


He stumbled in through the unlocked door. His mind noted that the smell of alcohol was probably rolling off of him in waves, but, being a recently 'released' member of two face's crew, he didn't really give a damn. His inebriated mind was slurring situations and time frames together until all the man wanted to do was beat something. It wasn't fair, making extra cash on the side then having to put it towards his whore of a wife and the little brat… Suddenly, there the kid was. Right in his line of vision.

"You're home late, Mom's passed out on the couch… where were you, asshole? She needs the money for her meds-" He hit the brat. Slammed him to the ground until he saw blood, but Willis Todd was not done yet. He balled his fists and put fresh bruises on the little guys face, the face that was so much like his own. It wasn't until he heard the coughing of his wife that he snapped out of this alcohol-inspired apathy. The man stood up, still in his drunken stupor, and stumbled over to the couch where Catherine Todd lay. He threw some dollars towards the crumpled form of his son.

"Go get her the fucking meds, Jason, or what I gave you just now will seem like nothing." The words were slurred, but Jason picked up on each one.

Jason picked himself up, leaning heavily on the dark wall behind him. He limped to the door and walked away. Once outside he spit the blood from his mouth, his body felt like the jagged edges of glass, ready to be broken at any time and without warning. The boy had learned long ago that the first thing his father saw after a night of drinking would receive a harsh beating. Always. The man had beaten his mother once, and ever since then Jason had been sure it was him. Always him. Jason was sure to use bitter and caustic words when _he_ came home, and every night his old man delivered. The neighbors watched him limp down the stairs leading to his apartment. He watched as their gazes, so filled with pity, or disgust, or – and Jason hated this one – lust, watched each step. He raised his lip in a snarl that made them all look away. The boy had stopped cursing humanity in general when he was three. He had stopped believing in the 'angels' and the 'god' his mother had once spoken of when he was five. He was seven now, practically a man.

Jason made his way, painstakingly slowly, to the pharmacy two blocks down. The people there had gotten used to seeing him blood soaked and exhausted. There were two of them, an older man and his young daughter. They had jacked up the prices just for him, because they knew he was desperate. This was Crime Alley. This was the world Jason Peter Todd had been born into and there was no hope of escape, just growing stronger until finally he would be able to fight back. He felt no hate as he turned over the thirty extra dollars; felt no anger when they shoved at him a half-empty pill bottle, felt no kindling of gratitude when the woman from the store gave him two extra pills for his mother. He felt hollow and drained. He walked out of the store with barely more than a grimace plastered on his face.

The people didn't stare this far from home. They felt sorry for him, but to be honest, everyone was out for themselves here. That was why Jason always picked pockets on his way home. No one ever suspected the forlorn child, bloodied and beaten down.

He made good time getting back "home". Getting up the stairs was painful, each step jarred his knees more than they should have. He assumed it was just a result of a variation in his father's alcohol intake. Maybe the bastard had taken a bit more than usual. Jason hadn't really been in a position to notice. The child had learned long ago to compartmentalize his mind, and by saving the part of him that was still capable of feeling… Jason Peter Todd still existed. When he opened the door he expected a few more fists to come his way, but they didn't. Looking around he noted that his old man's things were gone. The bastard had left him and his mother to die. Jason shrugged his shoulders. It was expected.

This was the world Jason had been born into, and he'd make sure to live it up when he finally got out. He'd be more than the drunken scum that was his biological father. He'd be more than the woman that was slowly withering away inside. He'd be a better man; he'd make himself known to others. Jason swore, on this day, that he would make a permanent mark on this world. Whether that mark was in the stars and shining brightly or burned deeply into the ground was irrelevant. One day, it would be there. That was the life Jason Peter Todd vowed to make for himself.


End file.
